


The Grim Truth of it All

by Kestral



Category: Thrilling Intent (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, but not very much comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24486775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kestral/pseuds/Kestral
Summary: You swore you wouldn't lose your family a third time.Spoilers for episode 333
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	The Grim Truth of it All

The first time you lost your family you’d stood still, frozen in place for days until finally you went to find your saviors and pick up a weapon.

The second time you lost your family, well, if you’d stood still you would have died with them. Instead you ran from the arrows and the torture and the noose. You fled the country and all the people you’d fought to protect until you found a place that was seeking adventurers.

You swore that there’d never be a third time.

The ceiling cracked, dust falling then swooping. Particles danced in space as the air itself warped in the presence of a rift.

Markus stood with his back to the purple, blue, and inconceivable cyclone, and addressed his friends.

“I appreciate it, I really do, but this is—” his confident smile faltered, “this is what has to happen. I love you all. You all have given me some of the happiest years of my life with your friendship.”

You reached out your hand, calling his name, but even though you meant to cry out your voice was quiet.

“Markus,” Harlock said firmly. “You’re an idiot, but we’re gonna get you back.”

“Well,” he cracked a grin as he took one step towards the gaping hole in reality. He looked back over his shoulder as the shades and whirls of impossible colors began to consume him. “I’m an idiot, but I’m an idiot with style.”

With a cheerful wave he walked into the rift.

You followed after him. You reached out to grab that waving hand and against all odds you got there in time. Or so you thought until your hand passed through his like it was mist.

Then it was gone. The rift, that threat to all reality, winked away with Markus inside it and a heavy silence fell on the group.

After a few seconds that lasted an eternity, Kyr stumbled forward.

“Uh, ha ha,” he laughed in disbelief. “Where’d he go? He’s, uh, Markus?” He called out and looked around.

Fight, flight, or freeze? You’d already frozen, you’d already fled. You’re older now. You’re stronger now.

“Harlock,” you say like you’re issuing an order. “Open it again.”

“No! Absolutely not,” says Ashen Knight. “We cannot do that a second time.”

“Open it again Harlock!” You’re not letting this happen.

Harlock’s frown is softer than usual, her eyebrows knit together out of concern instead of frustration.

“Markus is gone,” Ashen Knight says with a heavy rumble, his voice dipping so low it nearly broke. “I am _sorry,_ but it was necessary. He was the only one among us who could do what needed to be done to save humanity.”

“Hhh,” you breathe, your chest tight. You blink, and the corners of your eyes are hot. “Harlock, open it ah,” your throat constricts against the words but you’re fighting this time. “Again. Please.”

Harlock looks at you, her eyes for just a moment unguarded. “Gregor, you know I’d do almost anything for you, but I will not destroy the world.”

You fumble as you grab onto her sleeve, feeling the shock of your knees hitting the hard floor.

A long time ago you’d knelt, shaken with grief. Your family’s dried blood was still on you. You knelt before the imposing figure of Ventis, surrounded by strangers. In time these people would become your family, though you had no way of knowing it then.

Still, you’d found some inner strength there to pledge yourself to the Outriders.

You hold Harlock’s arm as you kneel, chest laboring, throat drawn out like a stretched rubber band, eyelashes wet and eyes closed.

Freeze, flee, or fall apart.

“Markus,” you say, like it is a prayer to uncaring gods.

“I know.” Harlock kneels down in front of you. “I’m sorry.”

Slowly, awkwardly, she pulls her one arm free of your grip, then wraps it around your quivering shoulders. She shifts and pulls you in so that you can rest your head against her chest.

As you sob you feel her chest steadily rise and fall. You hear the even beat of her heart.

Time passes. Harlock doesn’t say a word. She knows she’s no good in this situation, she doesn’t have the first clue what to say.

Footsteps approach.

“We lived!” calls Nahal. The whine to her tone makes her voice easy to identify. “And by ‘we’ I mean these people I met who say they know you.”

“Yeah,” says a different voice, rough in a familiar way. “She was a tough opponent, but, oh shit, are you all okay?”

“If anyone is injured,” says a smug voice, “I can be of assistance.”

“Do not touch me, _god_ ,” Ashen Knight says as if god were a curse.

Harlock sighs. Her chest vibrates against your ear as she speaks, a gentle rumble. “We lost Markus.”

“Oh,” says Xin. “I was looking forward to seeing him again.”

One set of footsteps draws closer. “Hey Gregor, it’s me.”

You don’t move. You feel like you can’t.

“He’s taking it hard,” Harlock says. “Who are you?”

“I’m Zalvetta. We’re,” he pauses as if there’s some uncertainty. “Gregor’s my friend.”

“Ah yes, the ninja. You were mentioned in my files.”

With a rustle of loose robes Zalvetta sits down. “Hey Gregor,” he says softly, putting a hand on your back. “Hey.”

Faintly, you want to say hi back, but your mouth pays no heed to that desire. Your whole body is unresponsive to any thought of movement.

You can imagine yourself as seen from above, limp, helpless, a poetic picture of grief. Red robes on the floor, limbs slack as muscles refuse to move, as if your body is that of a lifeless doll’s rather than your own. Completely pathetic. This image of yourself feels performative, like you’re acting out this grief instead of feeling it.

Because mostly you feel empty. You don’t move because at this point you are just utterly spent. Spent because when Markus vanished it wasn’t only a new wound but it was like all the old wounds reopened and leaning against Harlock you had cried for your parents and your grandfather and your mentor and the Outriders _and_ for Markus. But the rage and the grief have faded away and nothing but exhaustion has come to replace them. Your eyelids feel fused shut, eyelashes heavy with salt.

“Can you hold him for a bit?” Harlock asks. “I need to, I don’t know what. Do something.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah I can do that.”

“Okay.” She shifts about. “Give me a hand, this is like trying to move a cat.”

You are settled into Zalvetta’s arms. He smells like blood, and beneath that earth and stone. He wraps his robes and his small frame around you, one hand seeking yours. Between your fingers he interlaces his own and gives a squeeze.

Through great effort, you squeeze back.

“Ha ha.” With each of his breaths your head bounces. “Still as strong as ever.”

Harlock gets up and walks away. “Kyr, what are you doing?” she says. “Actually no, I’ve figured out what you’re doing and you need to stop.”

“Thank you for stepping in,” says Ashen Knight. “I could tell that was a problem but I didn’t know how to intervene.”

“One of the perks of—no Kyr put the pliers down!” She sighs. “An advantage of not having a heart.”

“Hmmm,” Ashen Knight rumbles doubtfully.

Finally, your mouth moves, though you speak barely above a whisper. “This can’t keep happening.”

“I know,” says Zalvetta, even though he doesn’t. “You’re going to be okay.”

That was true, wasn’t it? Both times before, you’d eventually been okay. It’s like Markus had said, you all have given each other some of the best years in your lives. And now that was over. But the grim truth of it all?

You’re going to be okay. For some reason, _you_ get to keep living.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. My use of second person in this fic was a pretty deliberate choice to make reading this feel kinda uncomfortable. I would love to know how it worked! Did you hate it in a bad way or a good way, or did second person just make sense? My goal was to make it feel personal.


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